


true gold never rusts

by Recluse



Category: Free!
Genre: Future AU, Gen, M/M, they're old basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recluse/pseuds/Recluse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are old and worn and frail, but they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	true gold never rusts

**Author's Note:**

> http://supershoyu.tumblr.com/post/83072529399/sketching-the-future-of-makoharu-i-need-to I saw this post and then I died a little inside thinking about it so. here we are

Light filters through his window, and he stretches, bones a little achy. It's warm though, better than yesterday, and when he checks the clock, he's on time, a few minutes before his alarm.

He hears water running and smiles.

_Haru, of course...He always manages to get up earlier then me._

Six or so in the morning is early already though, and he wonders if Haru's joints have been acting up again. He hasn't been sleeping as well, recently, due to pain, and Makoto wonders if they should go see a doctor again. Haru will probably argue against the idea, but Makoto worries for him anyways.

The floorboard creaks when he walks through the hallway, stopping in front of the bathroom, opening the door with a cheerful hello. Haru is reclining in the bath, eyes closed, but he knows Makoto has come in, doing his daily routine.

"Remember not to sit for too long, Haru."

"I'm already wrinkled, so it doesn't matter."

There's something to be said about how, over time, Haru's sense of humor has casually grown. Makoto laughs gently, bends down despite the protest of his knees and runs his hand across Haru's face, smiling. There are a few folds, a few wrinkles just as Haru has said, but he prides himself on the fact that they've both aged fairly well, thanks to swimming in their youth.

Haru glances at him, lazily opening his eyes before reclining again.

"You'll be late." He murmurs, raising a hand towards Makoto's on his cheek, gripping it for a few seconds before tugging it away from his face. Well worn hands, skin stretched rather taut against bones, painting will do that in time. Makoto has loved those hands for years, even before they were as thin as they are now, when they were young and their palms still sturdy, still thick with childhood and muscle.

"I'll go soon." He says, squeezing Haru's hand before letting go. "I've got to get dressed still."

"Hurry." Haru shifts to look at him again. "I don't think they'll mind if you wear your pajamas though."

"Haru, I can't teach kindergartners with pajamas on!"

"You could." He's laughing, a slight curve to his mouth, and Makoto sighs, shakes his head but smiles.

"I'll make you mackeral, so get out of the bath soon, ok?"

"Don't burn it."

He hasn't burned it for at least twenty years, and they both know that, but Haru has never let go of how many fillets he has unfortunately 'ruined' by over-cooking. Makoto simply shakes his head and goes, tugging on a shirt from the closet, pants, belt, socks. The socks are the most painful, he doesn't have the worst back, but he has been aching recently, and bending over is unpleasant at times.

Haru walks in as he walks out, and Makoto reminds him. "Dry thoroughly."

"I got it."

Mackerel is, as it has been, a staple of their house, though Makoto has gotten him to have other things in stock. Mackerel in the morning is odd, but, after so many years of it, he's learned how to make it feel more or less normal. Rice, mackerel, vegetables, he pulls out the chilled radish and sets it on the table while the pan heats up and the rice cooks, and sets to making two servings. Additionally on the table, there waits a few pill bottles, pain medication on the occasion that Haru's arthritis acts up. It's not severe, and Makoto is grateful, but they're always there, just in case.

"You forgot your glasses."

A clink against the table, and then Haru is at his side, moving him over.

"The mackerel is burning."

"It is not."

"Look, see." He takes the chopsticks out of his hands, skillfully turns the fillet over, and fine, it is a little charred on the edges, but not terribly so.

"It's not that bad..."

"Hm." Haru's arm brushes against his. "I guess. It's better than the first time."

"Of course."

They stand next to each other despite how small the stove is, discussing nothing, Makoto watches Haru cook with a fondness that almost feels nostalgic, as if he's seventeen again, curious as to how Haru can cook it perfectly every time.

When they eat, it's quiet, but not in a bad way, it never has been. It's comforting, and Haru looks at him, watching, and Makoto watches back unabashed, silent conversation via eyes.

_Today, are we going to go down to the beach?_

_When I get back, sure. We haven't gone in a while. I don't think Ren or Ran will bring their kids, or their grandkids._

_It's alright with you?_

_Of course it is, Haru. The ocean hasn't scared me for years._

_Nagisa and Rei and Rin may come over._

_They usually call before coming._

_True. Good._

Haru's smile causes the corners of his eyes to crinkle, and Makoto feels oddly sentimental today, so he leans down and kisses him on the cheek before going, walking down the steps. Haru shakes his head, but his grip on his hand is firm when he says goodbye, "Come back soon."

Iwatobi hasn't changed much, Makoto takes a deep breath of sea air, old stone and earth. There have been renovations here and there, repairs, but this area, at least, Haru's old home and the homes around it, his own old home included, those have all stayed relatively the same.

"Mr.Tachibana! Good morning!"

"Ms.Tamura." He smiles as he walks down past her house. "Going to school early today?"

"I woke up at a good time today! My alarm actually worked!" She grins, then pauses. "Oh, that's right. Mom wanted you to have these. They're extras from a thing she was doing for a senior citizen project."

She hands him a bag that smells sweet. He's not sure what's inside, but he hopes it's shareable with his kindergarden class. Sweets aren't really in Haru's favor, and there's no way he can eat all of whatever this is himself.

"Thank you, dear."

"No problem. I'll see you later, Mr.Tachibana!"

She runs down the route where he used to walk up, and a fondness comes over him, a sadness at the older Mrs.Tamura he used to know before her death, a multitude of colorful feelings. A stray cat comes from behind, speckled orange, Koi, if he remembers the name Haru gave her correctly, and Makoto smiles down at her. Memories seem to be abundant, today.

His kids at the school clamor over the box, asking him constantly what's inside, if they can have some. Tiring, but fun. When he had been younger, he'd done nursery work as well, but teaching had always been what he was more suited towards.

"Now, settle." He says sternly, and the children draw back, clearly feeling scolded. "I'll open the box if you all behave today."

* * *

Haru finds himself in that quiet again, the one that happens whenever Makoto goes to work. It's not a bad one, no, but it feels a little lonely, he's acknowledged that by now, he still wants Makoto by his side all the time.

Still, the day moves on with or without caring for his feelings, and it'll take longer, he knows, if he dwells on it. So instead he paints, drifting in thought, relaxed strokes against a canvas. His paintings have sold well now, within the past thirty or so years, but it had been a difficult endeavor for years before that, with him taking jobs on the side constantly.

But there had always been Makoto by his side, at least. That had made everything worth doing.

Reminiscing has happened more often, recently, and while Haru dislikes focusing on the past, he still thinks back, towards their teen years. Days that he hardly remembers at some points, others that he recalls with a startling clarity. The day Makoto moved to Tokyo for college. The day Haru first saw him with another person, a girl by his side and was overwhelmed. The day he and Makoto had their first real fight, over something he can't remember anymore, but it was caused more by tension and uncertainty and painful, painfully kept desires.

Those were the most difficult times of his life. His strokes are a little more ragged.

Distancing himself from Makoto through their twenties because he couldn't get him out of his mind. Makoto almost getting shotgun married to a girl who was in love with someone else anyways. Shouting, expressing, realizing, living together in Tokyo, fresh and free as college students. Having his parents come to terms with their relationship. Having to come to terms with it himself. Touching him for the first time, Haru puts down his paintbrush and takes a deep breath to compose himself.

This is why he doesn't like looking back on the past. There's such a thick mixture of emotions, regrets and reliefs, warm and cold moments, scares, ends, beginnings. There's too much to take in. Even though it's been decades, the feelings are different and new each time, almost fond at points where he was distraught, other times regretful.

When he had been formally 'adopted' into the Tachibana family. When his own parents had simply given up the house to him as a goodbye. They have lived through several decades together in this house, from their childhoods to their adult years, the ghosts of their pasts echo through the hallways, chasing each other down, sitting outside feeding strays, cooking the same dinners, finding the same patterns to fall into, over and over again, meeting in a way that doesn't seem realistic.

He's gotten fanciful. He blames Rin, and Rei, and Nagisa, and Makoto too, for bringing it up sometimes. Reminding him with a wistful tone, _"Remember when we used to sit outside and feed that adorable stray cat", "Ah, we...We've really done a lot of embarrassing things in this room", "Remember?"_

Of course he remembers. He'd remember anything that had to do with Makoto. He always has, since they were young. He always will, is his firm decision, and he picks his paints back up.

Soon, Makoto will come home, and they'll go down to the beach, dressed relatively warmly, because old bones are easily chilled, and they have grown old together, worn down with each other.

* * *

"It's cold, isn't it Haru?"

"You're just getting old."

"You're older than me!"

They walk along the coast in sandals and coats, holding hands.

"You're still getting old."

He simply sighs. "We both are."

Without thought, they hold each other's hands tighter, in the cloudy haze close to sunset on the beach.

"...Haru." Makoto pauses his step, and Haru pauses his own, and they stand, the barest hint of the tide brushing their ankles.

"I love you."

The saying is old and beaten between them, usually said one thousand times in smaller gestures between a day, and Haru nods.

"Me too." He starts walking, dragging Makoto along. "I love you too."

He hears a light chuckle. "Well, that was unexpected. You said it back, today."

"Sometimes I feel like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The rest of the words float between them, the vows to stay until death, quietly murmured years and years ago during a quiet rain, leaning against the door to the backyard. Haru grips Makoto's hand and believes in the rest of the time they have, hopes a small hope that he will never have to see Makoto die and Makoto will never see him die either, somehow. Death is starting to become a familiar thing, the notices of their schoolmates that Makoto has kept in contact with death's, three in total the past year.

"Haru," Makoto brushes up against him, and his nerves relax a bit, "I'm here."

He says nothing, but nods. Makoto knows what's on his mind, brushes a withered hand through his much shorter hair, and Haru comes back to the present, not the future, nor the past.

 

 

 

(They die on the same day, different years. Makoto outlives him by a measly one. The same age. Their graves are close to the sea, and when time goes on for long enough, they are within the ocean, swimming free.)


End file.
